Kisses Over Babylon
by whatthenesmith
Summary: After the apocalypse that never was, Crowley and Aziraphale move on with their lives, six thousand years of waiting to be together finally over. But it seems that this particular angel and demon can't get a break, because something has it out for them. Something is haunting them and it won't leave them alone. Will Crowley and Aziraphale be able to think their way out of this one, o
1. Chapter 1

"Y'know, you could move in with me," the demon had said casually over lunch one afternoon.

They had been eating outside, it had been a nice enough afternoon out. Fluffy little clouds in the sky, going about their business without a care in the world. Sun shining brilliantly down upon the London cityscape on a rare occurrence that had warmed the metropolis's very bones.

And Crowley had spoken so softly, so matter-of-factly, that it had taken Aziraphale by surprise. He lowered the spoonful of soup he'd been about to wholeheartedly enjoy to give his demon a quizzical stare.

"Pardon?"

Crowley was staring into his glass of wine, swirling it around gently. He pulled a frown.

"All I'm saying is, we've been spending an awful amount of time together, so, I dunno, would make sense, 'suppose."

It was true that Aziraphale spent most of his free time around Crowley, either puttering about in that minimalist's wet dream he called a flat or sitting in his shop's backroom with a bottle between the two of them. When either of those spaces weren't occupied by the pair, they were frequenting a restaurant or a park or, on some occasions, the little village of Tadfield.

"But what about my shop?"

"Oh, you'd still have the shop, angel," Crowley rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair reflexively. "Wouldn't dream of trying to tear you away from that place. But… I don't know, it's stupid."

The put-out look on his dear friend's face brought a twinge of longing afire in Aziraphale's chest.

"No, no, go on, dear boy," Aziraphale encouraged.

The demon's eyes flashed at him from behind the glasses that he habitually wore. Protection from the cruelties of the world.

"I mean, you'd still have the shop, it could even be _our_ shop, maybe, and you could come live in my flat. With me. _Our_ flat. Dunno, stupid, but can't… help wonderin', 'suppose, is all."

The angel could feel Crowley's eyes on him, flicking away as if he didn't want to look at him for too long. A sensation he'd felt for an odd six thousand years or so blossomed in his chest, sweat percolating on his palms. Could Crowley be nervous? The thought sent pleasant shivers down his spine.

"I think I'd like that," Aziraphale spoke after the briefest moments of silence.

"Really?"

The demon sounded surprised. As if Aziraphale would ever have had the strength to say no to something Crowley suggested, especially now, post the not-apocalypse. Crowley could ask anything of him and Aziraphale would move Heaven, Hell, and Earth to fulfill his friend's wish.

"Of course, dear, I mean, fancy us, roommates," he smirked.

Crowley threw him a proper glare, the glasses doing very little to protect Aziraphale from it's intended burn.

"We wouldn't be roommates, angel."

"I know dear."

It didn't seem that his cheek was much appreciated by Crowley, the demon nearly pouting. Quite a lot of willpower was used to still Aziraphale's rapidly beating heart. It'd been doing that a lot lately, beating so fast around Crowley that he swore his corporation would have a heart attack.

"Well, good," Crowley huffed, gulping down the remnants of his wine and looking decidedly put-out when there was nothing left.

Aziraphale reached out, seemingly grasping in the dark until he found his demon's free hand and took a hold of it. Squeezing gently, Aziraphale said, "I suppose we'll need to talk details. Changes will need to be made on paperwork."

The smile that graced Aziraphale's eyes was enough to make him blush, a school-child with a self-indulgent infatuation. Even after milenia, it never ceased to amaze the angel at the ageless nature of love.

"Guess we will. Can't have the paperwork wrong."

"Nothing wrong with that," Aziraphale sniffed, hand releasing Crowley's and returning to his dish.

Despite the slight sour look on Crowley's face, one that was meant more light-heartedly anyways, Aziraphale could sense the contentedness drifting off of his demon. It filled his heart and there would be very little to sway his lips from breaking out into a smile.

Lunch was finished rather quickly, even at the angel's naturally slow pace while he enjoyed the food he was imbibing. Crowley managed to even get through another glass of wine before Aziraphale suggested the check, a new thrill of excitement bubbling to the surface of his emotions.

Leaving a sizable tip, the two immortal beings stood up from their table and wandered, feet instinctively taking them both to a rather fond park of theirs nearby, St. James. The sun was still indeed blessing the city with her presence, a wonderful cacophony of general bliss sparking up inside of the angel as he and his demon walked arm in arm along a little pathway, passing others who were also out enjoying the day.

"This is ever so lovely," Aziraphale found himself humming, holding securely onto Crowley's elbow.

It reminded him of centuries past, probably around 1899 or around then, when petticoats and top hats were still in fashion anyways, and Crowley had for a short period been found of presenting as a woman (he'd been ever so into the layers of skirts women had worn back then). They'd strolled this very route, all those years ago, arm in arm like so.

How he'd fantasized about a moment like this, to freely love and be loved by Crowley.

Back then, he'd never fathomed such a time. Heaven had been heavy on his mind, the risk of Falling too prevalent, and Crowley too flighty for Aziraphale to truly read. Flashes of love, but demons weren't built for that. How Aziraphale had managed to ignore the clear love and fondness felt from Crowley for so long was truly beyond him.

"Guess it is, angel," Crowley agreed, a smirk perking up his face, "Though it's all the better with you by my side."

Pink cheeks burned under bashful eyes. His heart skipped, a bird fluttering against the bars of its enclosure. They paused for the briefest of moments as a trio of ducks crossed the pathway, heading for the nearby pond where others of their kind were swimming about.

"Oh, you are too kind, my dear."

With the ducks gone, their walk resumed but with a decided sway off the beaten track, Crowley murmuring into his ear, "I'm too kind, eh?". The demon guided Aziraphale towards a bench that squatted beside a rather large tree that stretched up to the heavens, providing them plenty of coverage from any passersby that might dare to look upon them.

"Crowley-," Aziraphale began in a light sort of way, laughter fresh inside of him and about ready to spill out, but before the angel could finish his sentence, Crowley is attacking his mouth with his.

Their arm in arm embrace shifted effortlessly into something warmer, each pulling the other closer in an absurd game of tug-o-war, as the kiss deepened further and further. Aziraphale's cheeks were hot stoves, stirrings in his abdomen whispering quiet temptations to him, a flurry of heat and love springing forth inside of him in a dizzying display of affection.

Crowley left him breathless, eyes shut unbeknownst even to him until he felt a forehead pressed against his own. He opened his eyes to those honey gold snake eyes of Crowley's, their noses brushing against each other.

"You certainly are the wiliest of demons," Aziraphale breathed, leaning into Crowley's touch.

"Oh, certainly, wily and then some."

There was a nip on his ear and Aziraphale moved backwards, a fraction of an inch, face already red and bothered.

"Dear, please," he managed to free a hand that immediately went to fiddling with the hem of his waistcoat, yet the undeniable smile was still very present on his face and the blush impossible to ignore.

Crowley was undoing him, the ache in his chest a physical pain come alive under the fingertips of six thousand years worth of waiting and denial. The laughter from earlier slipped out, hesitant at first but then strong, sturdy. Yet it had the flare of a school-girl, smitten to the last fiber of her being.

"What?" Crowley reeled the angel closer again, cupping the small of his back and tilting his head upwards.

"Don't be coy," Aziraphale pleaded, "Let's go back to the shop. We could discuss some paperwork over a glass of wine, or perhaps even brandy. I should think I still have some in the back." 

"Right, brandy sounds fine to me."

The glint in his eyes suggested that Crowley had few intentions of working on paperwork back at the shop. His thoughts were elsewhere. Aziraphale didn't half-mind, afterall Crowley had seemed to work him up into a right state at the moment, but if they were to move forward with this whole moving-in process, things would have to be settled.

The angel pulled away, quick to take Crowley's arm again and resume their previous pace, saying, "Good, then it won't take us very long to go over what I assume we will need to, although I may want to consider purchasing some new furniture."

"Furniture?"

"Yes, if I'm to move in, there will be a few changes to your flat."

"They better be minor, angel. I've got an aesthetic and taste to maintain."

In the darkness of another plane known only to those outside of the power of God Themself, something stirs. It begins to pulse, a heart beat with an unnatural rhythm that cries out into broken static. It cries out, yearning and searching, stretching ever outwards.

It senses, it knows, of what has come to pass that shouldn't have.

It senses, it knows, of what must be done.

For there are consequences for actions. Always. Nothing is done without them. And what has come to pass has left an unbalanced shift, echoing through the universe's very core ten fold.

It reaches out, out, out, until it's fingers slip into another realm of similarity, an ethereal plane that is within reach of the divine. It reaches out, out, out, until it finds in this plane those of which who had been corrupted into something that never should have been.

It senses, it knows, of what must be done.

And simultaneously, an angel and a demon have a nightmare.


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale stood on the edge of a vast bog. It gurgled and seemed to shift beneath his feet, alive and restless. The sky was dark, an ominous dark that brooded and sulked. In this dark place, he could not make out any of the usual things an angel should. No sense of love or contentedness. No joy or happiness. Her Love even seemed to be paler, waner, in this place. It left him feeling empty, an emptiness that twisted him up inside and settled deep within in his bones.

It left him cold and alone.

"Hello?"

No one answered him. His voice fell flat, the words stifled instantly by some unseen force. They died the moment they left his mouth.

He wanted, no, needed out of here. But there didn't seem to be any obvious exit, no land to head towards. It was just the bog, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Nothing but mud and peaty grass. There was the thick stench of unclean water but Azirapahle couldn't see water of any kind, just the soft mud.

The angel felt his wings twitch. Without realizing they were in this realm and not the usual ethereal plane they occupied while on Earth, Aziraphale tentatively unfurled them. The brilliantly white feathers stood out starkly against the grim surroundings, causing the angel to feel uncomfortably exposed.

His wings would bring attention to him, unwanted and unneeded. But he hardly noticed their physical appearance despite the feeling in his gut. The wings spread out, tentatively beating at the air, testing.

If he couldn't see a way out of here on the ground, he would get a better angle from the sky. Then he could figure out where he was and how to get back home.

Powerful thrusts brought Aziraphale upwards, lifting him. It felt good, glorious even, to use his wings. It had been so long and for a brief moment, the anxiety of the situation faded from his being.

But then something caught him.

Muck sucked on his ankles, grounding him to the murky earth beneath. His foot was caught, stuck, despite his attempts at yanking it free.

Aziraphale beat his wings harder, faster. The halo, another aspect of his angelic form that only resided in an ethereal plane while on Earth and shouldn't have been visible, glowed white-hot as he focused on miracling away the muck.

To no avail.

It pulled him down, slowly but surely, the mud. His wings faltered, briefly but it was enough, and he fell to his knees, hands catching him before his face could collide with the ground. Brows furrowed together, Aziraphale tried again, his wings instinctively flapping in order to get him upright again.

But this only managed to make matters worse it seemed. His hands sank below the surface of the mud. It ate away at his pale flesh, an unearthly cold seeping straight into his core. It touched him like nothing ever should, not just reaching his corporeal being but the angelic one as well. This cold reached the white-hot, brilliantly burning celestial core of the principality Aziraphale and tore away the heat.

A scream tore through him, ripping apart his sanity as he sunk deeper. It pulled him, dragged him, as his wings beat fearfully in a futile attempt to rip himself to some semblance of safety. There was nothing, no one, to hear him, to save him. Pain burned his shoulder blades where his wings were attached. It hurt as they strained against the suction.

Pop. Crack. Aziraphale screamed louder, as his left wing was dragged down by gravity. He'd dislocated it. White feathers became dark, black, as the mud soaked into them. It slurped, sucked, the feathers down and they disappeared. The angel's left side now sank deeper than his right, as his only wing kept trying to drag him out purely on instinct.

"Crowley!"

The sob stuck in his throat, catching and suffocating him.

He couldn't do it. A wave of exhaustion crashed into him and his right wing stilled, feathers crashing hard into the ground. A wet smack followed.

"Crowley."

It consumed him and he jerked his head up, gulping down one last breath of air before he felt his descent into the mud hasten. His last thoughts were of …

_Crowley_.

The demon Crowley stood in a grassy field. Grey clouds overhead brought with them the promise of rain, great torrents indeed. They were heavy, pregnant. A shiver ran up Crowley's spine. Something pained him in his chest. He rose a hand up, rubbing at the area above his heart, unsure of what that was.

A twinge in his shoulder blades caught his attention. Wings. His great, black wings were spread out behind him. They stretched, the beautifully dark feathers blending right in with the surroundings. His brows creased together.

_Crowley_.

He turned his head to the left. It was as if someone was calling his name, far off, carried by the wind to softly whisper into his ear. When he moved, it felt as if he were walking underwater. It was odd, strange. Unnatural. But that was his strong suit, the unnatural. The preternatural.

Yet… somehow, this was different.

The field, at first, seemed to go on forever. No end in sight. Just thin grass with ragged looking flowers jutting out here and there. But then he spotted a tree. And to the left of the tree he saw a bog, distant but not too far off. If he ran, he could reach it, that bog that seemed to be immense and never-ending.

Something drew him there, tempting him. Teasing him. It seemed to say 'come, demon, see what fun I have in store'.

_See what I can do_.

The frown deepened and another shiver threatened to run up Crowley's spine. Overhead, the clouds seemed to grow darker. The sky was beginning to turn into an ominous black. Usually ominous was good, a sign of demonic influence or some shit. But right now, it gave Crowley the goosebumps. The shivers couldn't be held back and they crawled up Crowley's spine.

The demon looked around, uncertainty building. This wasn't right. None of this was right. He couldn't place what was wrong though. It wormed around in his stomach, causing him to worry. But worry about what?

His eyes went back to the bog, his mind going at a snail's pace. Irritation flared, body jerking forward because why couldn't he think? There was something screaming inside of Crowley, yelling at him to figure out what was going wrong with this picture but then-

A clap of thunder shook the earth, nearly causing Crowley to fall over. It deafened him, leaving an echo in his ears. The ringing wouldn't stop and it hurt. The demon's hands clamped down over his ears just in time to prevent another clap of thunder from most likely causing minor hearing loss.

The ground shook again. Crowley stumbled trying to keep upright.

No lighting could be seen in the sky and then the clouds opened up. Rain fell in great big sheets, coming down as fast as knives. When the water hit the demon, it burned. It _burned_. Crowley began to scream, instinctively attempting to shield himself as best he could with his wings and his legs broke out into a run.

The tree wouldn't be much of a haven but it would be something.

Yet he knew it was too late. Already he could feel his skin burning away, bubbling and disintegrating. And the rain was pelting down upon him. It hurt, horribly so and to a point where it was the most unbearable pain he'd ever felt. It brought with it memories of his fall, wings burning away to nothing and halo ablaze atop his head, grace forcefully being ripped from him without mercy.

It took all of his might not to lapse into memories, confusion threatening to eat away at his sanity and the something inside of him still screaming at him to figure out what was wrong with this.

As his legs buckled, his eyes focused on something in the distance. A single white feathered wing, beating hopelessly at nothing. Then it faltered, dipped away, out of sight. It could have been real. It could have been a trick of the mind.

"Aziraphale," the demon managed to croak.

Speaking hurt, forcing him to wince in pain, but it didn't matter much. Everything was pain, his whole body lit up with fire. And his vision began to grow hazy, fuzzy. It ate away at his sight and for a moment, he felt nothing but pure relief.

Because he felt nothing. Nothing was better than everything. The darkness ate away at him, his body not a thought in his head anymore. Really, the only thing he had on his mind was his angel. The principality Aziraphale. And then he thought of nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

Then Anthony J. Crowley bolted upright with a sharp gasp. The sheets were wet with sweat, the covers flung off and crumpled in a corner of the room. He was gasping for breath, as if he'd been having trouble breathing, and his heart was racing. Then he remembered he didn't need to breathe. This notion gave him some semblance of calm. Although he didn't need to breath, Crowley did take a few deep breaths in order to lower his heart rate.

Nightmares weren't anything new to the demon, he'd had them relatively regularly ever since he fell, but… but nothing like that. The nightmare he'd just woken up from was different. He couldn't understand why, but he knew it, deep down in his guts. Something wasn't right, and he'd felt that in the dream.

Heaving a mighty sigh, Crowley clicked his fingers. The sheets were no longer damp. The bed was made, blankets no longer a messy pile on the floor.

There were innate things Crowley could sense as a demon. All sorts of supernatural and occult things, but right now he couldn't sense anything. In this case, all he knew was that he'd had an extremely weird nightmare and he knew it in the dream. While it was happening. It didn't settle well with him, even if he didn't know what 'it' was. And, for the first time ever, the demon thanked whatever entity was out there willing to listen to him that Aziraphale didn't sleep.

How embarrassing would it've been had the angel been witness to his nightmare while he'd slept?

Thinking of Aziraphale caused a twinge inside of Crowley, a yearning for comfort that spread throughout him and compelled him out of bed. His angel would soothe the anxiety left from his subconscious. He would tell him that there was absolutely nothing to worry about, leaving Crowley free to curl up with him on the sofa and fall back asleep.

Clad in his pajamas, simple boxers and a white tank top, the demon exited the bedroom and padded into the living room where Aziraphale's presence in the flat really shined. There were four bookcases, a sofa that was much more comfortable than when Crowley had first bought it, and the angel's favorite chair taken from his bookshop.

Usually, Aziraphale stayed up reading in that chair while Crowley slept at night, but on this particular morning, the angel wasn't there.

"Angel?" Crowley called out, the anxiety still gripping him growing stronger.

No answer. Crowley moved into the hallway and relief flooded his system. In his striped blue and white pajamas, plucked (and saved) straight from the 1940s, was his angel.

"Angel, what are you doing out here, eh?" Crowley approached and then stopped.

Aziraphale was rigid and, now closer to him, Crowley could see that his eyes were glazed over. There was a blank, slack expression on his face. No recognition.

"Aziraphale?"

The demon reached out, placing a hand gently upon the angel's shoulder. The prickling of fear crept up Crowley's arm the moment impact was struck. It was as if it zinged up through him, his arm a conductor. Beyond this, there was no other sort of reaction from the ethereal being.

The phrase 'sleep-walking' floated into his mind but Aziraphale didn't sleep. You couldn't sleep-walk without sleeping first.

"Azirapahle," Crowley repeated, this time louder, more direct.

He shook his angel.

The fear sweated from him, the blank look on his face increasing the panic growing inside of Crowley.

Grabbing onto Aziraphale's other shoulder, the demon turned him so that they were looking at each other. Or, rather, Crowley was looking at Aziraphale's empty face. Icy cold hands gripped his body. Aziraphale's face was meant to be crammed with emotion, so much emotion the angel hardly had time to process them all in his head. This sight in front of him was _wrong_.

"Wake up, angel," Crowley shook him again, but it was futile.

Eyes glazed, mouth slightly ajar, chest not even rising. He just stood there. Aziraphale didn't sleep. The image of that brief flash of white feathers in his dream darted across his mind. _Hadn't felt like a normal nightmare_.

"Aziraphale, you bastard, stop this right now."

Said to deaf ears.

"Angel, please, you're scaring me."

He spoke in a voice so soft, it even surprised Crowley. Because Crowley, despite all that he knew and was, felt afraid. He felt fear. And to some extent, Aziraphale was the cause of that.

For a moment, one that seemed to stretch out infinitely, nothing happened. Nothing changed.

Then, Azirapahle's eyes seemed to focus in on Crowley. The corners of his mouth twitched. For a second time that night, relief flooded into the demon's system and he pulled the angel into an embrace, muttering encouragement like "That's it, angel, wake up".

But as their skin made contact, Crowley was met with sharp flashes of pain and the smell of burnt flesh. He recoiled, the burn marks already manifesting where he'd had skin to skin contact with his angel. Grimacing, his eyes flicked back to Aziraphale, whose face was no longer placid.

Instead, it was twisted with a pain of its own, mouth agape as if he were screaming but there was no sound. And Crowley watched as his angel's skin rippled. Eyes had snapped open all over his skin and divinity radiated off of him in hot bursts. Everything in Crowley's nature screamed at him to back away, to run away.

This was an angel in front of him. The eyes didn't blink and Crowley could feel them all on him. There was still pain etched across Aziraphale's features and Crowley was rooted to the spot. He couldn't get himself to move. Nature versus nurture vied for the ruling right in his brain as demon wanted nothing to do with the pain an angel could cause it but Crowley wanted nothing more than to run to Aziraphale's side.

Frozen, Crowley watched as Aziraphale pitched forward. This was enough to get him to dart forward but he wasn't fast enough. The angel caught himself with his hands, though there were sounds of scraping and smacking. It looked as if Aziraphale was struggling against some unseen force, struggling to get free.

"Wake up, Aziraphale!" Crowley commanded, afraid to touch his love.

If he were burned, so too would Aziraphale.

For an agonizing moment, nothing changed, but then a guttural moan ripped through the ethereal being on the floor and suddenly the eyes covering Aziraphale's skin snapped shut, disappearing and leaving red welts in their stead. The angel collapsed in a heap on the ground, limp and motionless.

It was like a hole opened up inside of Crowley for a moment, as his senses were shocked by the sudden lack of intense divinity, but he adjusted quickly enough, moving to his angel's side now that his demonic nature was no longer being repulsed.

"Angel?" Crowley tentatively called out, gently rolling Aziraphale onto his back, making sure that his head was cradled in his arms.

The demon saw that Aziraphale's eyes were now shut, their movements clear behind his closed eyelids. Crowley placed his hand against his angel's cheek, leaning in close, whispering his name and placing a kiss against his forehead.

For a moment, nothing changed, and Crowley felt the panic rising like bile in his throat, because what the _fuck_ had that been? But then Aziraphale's eyes snapped open and he scrambled away from Crowley, body trembling. He looked around wildly, arms frantically flying around his frame as if trying to brush off something that wasn't there.

"Aziraphale! Aziraphale, calm down!" Crowley instructed, showing his palms to his angel as Aziraphale focused in on him.

"Where's the mud?" Aziraphale asked, seeming to finally take in his surroundings, "How'd… how'd you get me out?"

Crowley's brows knitted together.

"What mud? Out from where? Angel, what are you talking about?"

"I-I was in a bog, or marshland, or somewhere with a lot of mud. It wanted me. My wings- my wings!" the angel's eyes glazed over, a clear sign he was shifting through realities to take a look at his ethereal form.

"They aren't broken. I- I don't understand, I was there, in that horrible place, so alone and so, so cold, and I was die-," Aziraphale broke himself off, shuddering, throwing a pleading look towards Crowley as if he had any answers.

His mind wandered back to his bedroom. The sheets had been soaked, blankets flung everywhere. Nightmares didn't do that to him, and he'd had plenty of time to find that out. Wandering back to Aziraphale, the phrase 'sleep-walking' came to him again, this time presenting itself as if it were truly the solution.

Then his brain began to form what had happened. Or at least some semblance of what might have happened. So Aziraphale had drifted off to sleep, had a nightmare that caused him quite a bit of distress. His body had then read that distress as real because Aziraphale didn't ever sleep, thus the reaction Crowley had witnessed. No otherworldly teleportation of any kind, no real danger. But the wriggling sensation of something being not quite right wouldn't stop bugging him.

The demon shook his head, electing to ignore that wriggling at least for now, instead deciding to say, "It's alright, angel, you just had a bad nightmare."

"I don't sleep."

The words were spat like venom. The thick scent of fear flooded the entire apartment, coating Crowley's mouth with an ashen aftertaste.

"Aziraphale, it's alright," Crowley said very evenly.

The angel kept his back pressed against the wall, body visibly tense. Worry wrinkled his face, the slight sheen of madness in his angel's eyes clear. Those eyes were trained on the ground and Crowley realised with a sinking feeling that Aziraphale was standing on the balls of his feet.

There were still red welts where his eyes had manifested all over his body, too visible on his pale skin. Seeing them reminded Crowley of his own burns, which he quickly took stock of. Very minor flesh wounds, that's all, and it took hardly any energy to rid his corporation of them. He'd need to calm Aziraphale and take stock of what happened, pry it from him so Crowley had more information.

"Angel," he began tentatively, "Listen, trust me, it was just a bad dream."

Aziraphale's eyes shot up from the floor to level a bewildered glare at Crowley, one that struck him directly in the heart and twisted without mercy. He didn't move. How could he?

"I-I don't understand," Aziraphale mumbled.

Crowley took a step forward, then another. Palms still open, facing the angel, Crowley slowly made his way to Aziraphale's side. With each inch of gap between them erased, Aziraphale seemed to relax, though fear filled Crowley's nostrils. It grew stronger as he drew nearer to the angel.

"It's okay, sometimes only a moment, all it takes, then- poof- you're asleep," Crowley explained, extending a hand towards Aziraphale.

"B-but, dear, I-I don't..."

Aziraphale cut himself off, shaking his head and quickly closing the tiny gap still left between their persons. The angel buried his face into Crowley's shoulder, arms tightly wrapping around his waist. Instinctively, Crowley wrapped his long arms around Aziraphale, pressing kisses into the soft curls on his head.

"Shh, hey, 's alright, really, happens to the best of us."

"No, Crowley," Aziraphale said into his shoulder, voice muffled, "I-I wasn't… I don't…"

"Angel, please, you weren't transported somewhere. I saw you in the hall, having some sort of sleep-walking episode," Crowley couldn't help but snap. It was gentle, oh how Crowley couldn't muster anything more than pained concern in the moment, yet it still seemed to sting.

"My dear, I-," Aziraphale pulled away, eyes staring pitifully up at him.

There was a sheen of wetness to them.

Crowley couldn't help it. He tilted his head down, pressing his lips ever so softly against Aziraphale's. Tension eased out of muscle further, the near overwhelming sense of fear diminishing slightly.

"I know what I saw," Crowley whispered, his nose brushing against Aziraphale's, whose eyes were still searching Crowley's for answers but he no longer seemed like a scared rabbit of some sort. "You're fine, angel, truly. I wouldn't lie to you."

"I-I suppose," Aziraphale said after a moment, "Yes, perhaps, I suppose that, right, you'll be correct. But… I don't remember falling asleep. And where I was felt so…"

The shudder that rocked through Aziraphale was felt so viscerally, Crowley almost shuddered in turn. His mind wandered briefly, ever so briefly, to the first time he'd ever dreamt.

It had been a pleasant dream but confusing at first. He'd understood that it hadn't been real but he remembered being uncertain. It was easy enough to sort out and Crowley found he rather enjoyed the human flaw of dreams. Sometimes Aziraphale had been in them and those had always been ever so blissful.

Then, a few months later, he'd had his first nightmare. A horrible thing, twisted up with memories of his Fall and the looming fear of his feelings for Aziraphale. It hadn't been fun and had left him sweaty and disoriented. There had been real fear felt when his eyes had opened. It hadn't stayed in the dream. The nightmares always felt so real.

And so had the nightmare he'd had earlier. But it had felt off. Too real, something not right. And Aziraphale didn't sleep. And-

"I know, angel, felt real," Crowley felt the pang of guilt already beginning to grow.

"Oh bother, I-I didn't know bad dreams could be like that, dear."

Aziraphale pulled away slightly, enough for him to stare up at Crowley's face, his hands worrying the hem of his pajama shirt. The demon didn't enjoy the sort of look Aziraphale was wearing. It screamed of pity, Crowley almost able to hear Aziraphale's thoughts. _Oh, you poor thing. I never realized. Knew they were bad when you told me about them but-._

That wouldn't do. Not right now.

"Let's get some tea, yeah?"


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley was already moving to the kitchen, making sure the kettle knew it would need to boil faster than usual with a simple glare. With the water on, he focused on the task of grabbing mugs despite how he could feel Aziraphale hovering in the doorway. Deep exhaustion was settling itself in Crowley's bones, the anxiety and fear from only the last few minutes finally taking its toll now that things had seemed to settle down.

It was easier to exhaust himself these days, if not physically, at least mentally. Stopping Armageddon had in some way reopened many old wounds for the wily demon, adding now an irrational anxiety that somehow someone was going to take Aziraphale away from him. What if this whole nightmare thing was a new plot by Heaven or Hell?

Hadn't they done enough for the universe? For humanity, for the whole sorry lot? Anger bubbled deep within the pit that was Crowley's being, a red hot pulsing thing that threatened to take him over if he wasn't careful. It was nothing new, as a demon Crowley often felt anger, but he needed to remain relatively level-headed at the moment.

So he simply took a deep breath.

"Take a seat, angel," Crowley instructed, upon seeing Aziraphale still lingering in the doorway to the small kitchen as he poured a little sugar into one of the mugs and a splash of milk to boot.

The other mug remained empty, for now.

Then the kettle was starting to whistle, to the relief of the demon, and Aziraphale slumped down into a chair by the table. Two bags went into the cups, water poured, and then Crowley shoved the one with milk and sugar in it into Aziraphale's hands.

"Thank you, dear," Aziraphale raised the cup to his lips, blowing softly upon its surface.

Crowley didn't bother touching the tea he'd made himself, honestly he didn't know why he'd done that in the first place, but he slouched down in the chair opposite from Aziraphale regardless. Taking him in with a side glance, he seemed well enough. Calm, appeared level-headed. A good sign.

Oh, but those damn welts were still visible. Reflexively, Crowley brushed his fingers against Aziraphale's, grimacing as his brain's pain receptors sparked, but thankfully nothing appeared on his own skin. The angel's eyes shot to Crowley's face, then down to his own person, a mixture of confusion and worry crinkling his features. A hand dropped away from the mug, grasping firmly Crowley's still extended hand in an attempt at comfort.

"What happened?" 

"Your eyes, they opened."

A shuffling of feet under the table, the avoidance of eye contact. Aziraphale's fingers played with the mug in his one hand, grip still tight on Crowley's own.

"C-can nightmares do that? Was… I in distress?"

"You were sleep-walking, or something like that. Looked like it anyways. Besides, don't have anything else in the realm of a damn explanation."

"Oh, Crowley, dear, you must have been so frightened. I'm sorry."

"What for? You didn't do anything," Crowley really hadn't meant to sound so irritated, yet with each exchange of words his voice dipped closer and closer to a tone that he didn't want to be using right now.

"I-It must have been rather worrying," Aziraphale insisted, hand squeezing gently, "What with my eyes opening and all. I…"

The angel trailed off and Crowley couldn't think of what to say next. He watched as Aziraphale carefully sipped at his tea, his face a storm of thoughts. A shiver attempted to run up the demon's spine, but he shook it off. No need in remembering Aziraphale's blank, expressionless face. What would be the point? He was fine now.

_Now_, but he hadn't been _then_ and Crowley was starting to suspect that maybe he himself hadn't been fine earlier either. Whatever was going on, Crowley knew he needed to get to the bottom of it.

"Aziraphale," Crowley spoke, breaking the silence the two of them had fallen into.

The blond's eyes fixed on him above his mug, small sips still being taken in a rhythmic pattern. Crowley took a deep breath and then continued, "Do you remember what happened before your nightmare?"

Eyes narrowed at him, of course not in a threatening way but already Crowley could see the gears whirring inside of his angel's mind. The mug was placed carefully down onto the tabletop. Pressure was relieved from Crowley's hand as Aziraphale pulled away from him, both hands now cupping the mug. Crowley missed the pressure.

"Well, dear," the grip on the mug tightened, knuckles whitening. "I-I don't… I suppose I had to have been…"

Concentration shadowed Azirapale's face, brows furrowed together. There was a flash of anxiety that Crowley could feel, delicious to any regular demon but Crowley didn't want Aziraphale to feel pressured.

""S 'kay, take your time."

The silence that followed ate up a lot of time, or at least it felt like it did to Crowley. It felt like Aziraphale was silent for millennia but it was really only a minute or so before the angel cleared his throat.

"I was reading. In my chair. A selection from my Wilde collection, I've been revisiting them as of late, and- well, I was reading in my chair, waiting for you to awaken from your quiet slumber so I could talk to you about going out this evening, I wanted to dance. Then, something took my attention away. It was weird, I-"

Once more Aziraphale trailed off, a rather hard look on his face. Before Crowley could really register what was happening, the angel got to his feet and exited the kitchen, moving with quick and deft steps.

"Angel?"

Crowley was already following him as best he could, nearly tripping into him where he'd stopped by the front door. He was peering up at the ceiling, the protection sigil he put there a visible bundle of markings composed of a pale blue light.

"Angel, what's wrong?"

Aziraphale reached a hand up, running a finger along one of the lines in the sigil.

"I felt something pull on the sigil, as if something was trying to get in, but it was faint, like I was imagining it," Aziraphale mumbled, finger still tracing something that Crowley couldn't see.

It looked fine to him, just an angelic sigil used to keep out any unwanted demonic entities. Aziraphale was only skilled in those sort of sigils, protection ones. The others around the apartment and the shop had been taken care of by Crowley himself. If he were a humble man (or man looking creature), he wouldn't admit that over the years he'd become expertly intimate with a lot of sigils; ones to harm and ones to trap and, yes, especially ones to protect. But Crowley wasn't humble and he often boasted to his angel about his expertise.

He brought his hands up to his temples, shutting his eyes and reaching out with his energy to his own protection and trapping sigils that resided all over the apartment. One really couldn't be too careful these days. None of them had been disturbed, nothing wrong or tampered with. Everything just as they should. His eyes snapped open again, moving closer to Aziraphale to get a better look at his sigil.

"I came out into the hall, to check, because I didn't think I'd imagine such a thing," Aziraphale went on, his finger still moving. "But I didn't get to the door. I just… I don't remember what happened after that. I went into the hall and then I was there."

Crowley couldn't help but notice the tangy scent of fear drift off of his angel. He didn't say anything, wasn't sure what to say, because Aziraphale's words were sinking in. So he'd been walking when he'd fallen asleep. It wasn't like he'd drifted off in his chair reading, like what some humans did. Truly, this only added more questions to poor Crowley's list.

"What are you doing?" Crowley prompted.

Without saying anything, Aziraphale reached down and took a hold of Crowley's left pointer finger. It was an odd way to do it and the demon nearly pulled away, but he allowed Aziraphale to guide his finger upward. It traced the line in the sigil that Aziraphale had been running his finger along and now Crowley could understand why.

It looked normal but this particular line seemed stressed, as if it had used a rather large amount of energy to repel an unwanted entity. It being an angelic sigil, Crowley wondered what else Aziraphale could sense off this thing, but Crowley himself was at a loss. Beyond the stress sensed, there was nothing more his demonic nature could pick up on.

"It's like something tried to get in but couldn't. But it tried very hard," Aziraphale murmured, sounding almost as if he were talking to himself.

In a moment, Crowley's finger was released and he brought his hand down, still eyeing the sigil.

"What does that mean?" 

The shrug Aziraphale offered did very little to soothe Crowley's anxieties. He was exhausted and worried and his mind was still working a mile a minute to piece together exactly what was going on here.

A yawn ripped through him, unwanted but his body often betrayed him when it came to sleep. It was his own fault really, you didn't just sleep through practically a whole century without consequences on a corporation. These days, he needed periodic rest like a regular person or else Crowley ran the risk of just passing out.

It was a pity, too, because he'd slept relatively well last night minus his own little nightmarish incident.

"Crowley?"

Crowley blinked, realizing that he hadn't heard a single word Aziraphale had said to him.

"Huh, what, angel?"

"I asked if you'd like a nap," Aziraphale repeated.

"No, I think we should, I dunno, work on figurin' out what the hell this is," he gestured vaguely to the sigil, hoping Aziraphale understood he also meant just everything that had transpired.

A comforting hand clasped his shoulder and Crowley wished for nothing more than to curl up on the couch with his angel.

"Dear, I know this is rather confusing, and I'm not happy about having had such a nightmare without knowing I'd fallen asleep, but perhaps if we took a moment to calm down, rest, we can revisit this with fresh eyes."

He didn't want to sleep. The sigil meant something, obviously it did, and the fact that both he and Aziraphale had experienced nightmares at about the same time was still bouncing around in his head. Crowley wanted to argue with Aziraphale because he might not know what precisely was going on here, he did know that it was _something_. And there was the nagging feeling that if they didn't figure this out soon, something bad was going to happen.

But then he failed to suppress another yawn and Crowley lowered his head onto Aziraphale's shoulder. The angel placed a hand upon Crowley's back, ghosting small circles. It was enough for Crowley to sag even further towards the floor, his knees threatening to buckle underneath him.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt. One day wouldn't matter, there was always tomorrow to start hitting the books. Or whatever Crowley decided was the best course of action to take next.

"Suppose you're right, angel," he breathed.

And with a collective sense of exhaustion, Aziraphale and Crowley disappeared to the couch in front of the television. It stayed off, Aziraphale picking up a book and Crowley curling up next to the angel. As his eyes slid shut, Crowley allowed himself a small smile. No matter what this happened to be, he knew that he and his angel would figure it out. There wasn't anything they couldn't do, as long as they were together.


End file.
